


World Cold And Hard; GF Soft And Warm.

by thirstysixdegrees (thisbedutch)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Body Worship, Chubby Katsuki Yuuri, Chubby Yuuri Week 2019, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Femslash, Groping, Lingerie, Oral Sex, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-12 18:44:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20569100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbedutch/pseuds/thirstysixdegrees
Summary: For Chubby Yuuri Week 2019: a series of one shots featuring one (1) chubby Katsuki Yuuri and one (1) utterly smitten girlfriend, Vika Nikiforova.





	1. My Mouth Is Cold, My Body Whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, the good ol' disappear from writing for 9 months then come back with all fem-viktuuri fluff trick. What can I say, the good folks of Chubby Yuuri Week convinced me this was a good idea.
> 
> Chapter titles are going to shamelessly be song lyrics, because otherwise I will just name them after memes.
> 
> I've not written fem-viktuuri before so I hope you enjoy it, and join the celebration of Best Boy Yuuri's body in every possible form!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day One: Confidence.

* * *

Vika’s appreciation for it started when she was about fourteen. And that _is _what it was, at that point. Combined with the awkward teenage lesbian feeling of knowing she liked a girl, but not quite being sure if she wanted to date her, or to be her.

She’d always been naturally slim, and skating kept her figure lean, even as she shot up to be taller than both her mothers. So, she admired girls with more weight on them. The curves and plushness, the way clothes would cling on them, where on Vika they tended to hang. Occasionally Vika would dream of digging her fingers into softness - her own, she told herself at first. She was just inspecting herself, the boundaries of who she was, by imagining herself in different shape. The fact that her head would turn for these same women she admired once she realised she wasn’t interested in men was just...coincidence. A fun, funny coincidence.

Nearly twenty years later it’s funny for entirely different reasons.

She loves her own body; it's powerful, a testament to the work she does, the strength and focus she puts into everything. It’s for her own consumption, and the rare few she chooses to share it wish - beyond that, she couldn’t care less what people think (and, in the nastier parts of the internet) say about it.

Yuuri’s body is all that, and more. In the off-season she thickens, softens, but the strength remains. She looks like she belongs between cherry trees, wrapped in pastel sweaters and poetic breezes and Vika wants nothing more than to reach out and poke one round cheek. 

So she does, and earns a bemused blink for her trouble.

_ You could bench-press me, _ she thinks, as Yuuri flushes under her stare, and carries on brushing Makka, who’s lying between them with a smug, superior look on his canine face.

Vika can’t even blame him. She’s finding it hard not to fling herself forward and bury herself in Yuuri’s chest - not even for anything naughty, she just wants, with an almost petulant, possessive fierceness, to be held by her soft, strong girlfriend.

“Yuuri,” she sing-songs, leaning forward.

Yuuri pauses to look up again, dark eyes wide and bright in the inn’s warm light. She looks at peace, and Vika is almost sad to disrupt the soothing motion of running a brush through Makka’s curls. Not sad enough not to get up to what Yakov affectionately (at volume) referred to as her ‘nonsense’, though, and she leans into Yuuri’s space, cups her face in her hands.

She runs her thumbs over Yuuri’s cheekbones. Strokes and stares and enjoys the way Yuuri allows her to, turning pink and warm under the pads of her fingers. If she squeezed, she’d leave little indents in her flesh, and she drops her hands down to do so, pinching Yuuri’s sides, the spread of muffin-top at her waistband. She’s faintly aware of Makkachin huffing and getting up to wander off, but is too focused on burrowing herself into Yuuri’s side to pay much more attention. Her fingers wander from waist to back, feeling the flex of muscle under all Yuuri’s off-season padding, and Vika swoops in for a kiss.

Sweetness, breathlessness, both smoulder in her mouth; Yuuri makes a surprised, pleased sound and wraps her arms round Vika’s shoulders, enveloping her in warmth and want. It’s not a heated kiss, but there’s the promise of later, more in it, and when she pulls back they’re both a little wobbly, smiling at each other. Secrets written across lip and tongue and _ oh _ , Vika thinks, _ that’s - _

“Um,” Yuuri says, before gently taking her arms down from Vika’s neck, in order to move Vika’s hands from her ass to a slightly less scandalous location. “Maybe not...in front of my parents…” 

Vika looks up, over Yuuri’s shoulder, because yes, there they are. The Katsukis and Minako and half the inn regulars, pretending that Vika _ isn’t _groping Hasetsu’s golden child in the middle of the inn’s bar.

“Okay,” Vika smiles, sliding reluctantly off Yuuri’s lap and pulling her up beside her. 

“Vika…” Yuuri warns, even as she lets herself be pulled along, towards the stairs, past the knowing looks being shot their way.

Vika blinks innocently, and beams at her.

Yuuri isn’t truly embarrassed - believe her, she’s seen Yuuri embarrassed enough times now to tell - but she’s still flushing gorgeously, looking up at Vika through her eyelashes and letting just the tiniest hint of smugness turn her polite smile...well. Less polite.

She’s had dreams about this, Vika has. A beautiful girl, all softness and light, wrapped round a knife-edge of seduction; dangerous in all the right ways, threatening love and devotion, and something to which Vika can’t put a name.

Yuuri’s fingers twine with hers, and she laughs gently as she follows Vika to their room.

_ Reality is so much better_, she thinks. Dreams don’t fix her with a dark, sweet look, before pulling her down into another kiss.

Reality bites - or at least, nips at her when they part again.

“Okay, so, now my entire family knows we’re about to have sex,” Yuuri mutters.

Vika nods, then pauses. Takes advantage of the pause to slide one hand down Yuuri’s side again, to grab and squeeze and - she gets her hand removed, again, because Yuuri is lovely, but cruel, but _ lovely_.

She pouts for a second, before dropping to her knees on the wooden floor. Places her hands delicately over Yuuri’s denim-clad thighs, and gives her the biggest, widest puppy-dog eyes she can.

“Who says we’re having sex?” She asks, voice low and threaded with want, “I dragged you up here for important coach things.”

“Like?”

Yuuri looks down at her expectantly, and Vika creeps her fingers upwards in one long, slow movement to wrap her hands round the back of Yuuri’s thighs. She scratches at the material of her jeans, keeps her fingers moving until they're catching on the back pockets. She toys with them, letting her fingers catch on the seam of the pocket, and then she tugs Yuuri carefully closer, so she can leer up at her over her belly.

She's five seconds away from straight-up burying her face in Yuuri’s belly-button when Yuuri puts her hand on Vika’s shoulder and lets out a breath.

“Oh, I see.”

She sounds amused, and Vika nods, nose brushing the soft fabric of Yuuri’s jumper.

“Very important stuff. So important I think you might need to lie down for it.”

“I didn’t realise it was that serious,” Yuuri plays along, before climbing round Vika with so much grace it should be illegal.

Vika actually has to stop for a second, before she can wobby clamber back up to her feet; she turns just as Yuuri’s rolled onto her back on the bed, propped up on her elbows and, suddenly shy, holds out a hand for Vika to take.

She kneels on the edge of the bed instead, and crawls up Yuuri’s legs. Dives, unceremoniously, for the buttons of her trousers and smiles at Yuuri as she makes short work of them.

Yuuri drops her hand to the pillows beside her and huffs. Apparently content to let Vika unzip and undress her, without extending any more effort than lifting her legs, her hips, when urged. Curious to see where Vika is going, maybe, though it’s not hard to guess.

Once she’s got rid of the jeans, Vika turns her attention to the jumper. Soft wool in baby blue, and it’s so Yuuri it’s beautiful, and even she doesn’t have the heart to tear or stretch at it. She rolls the bottom of it up to expose Yuuri’s stomach, then keeps going until Yuuri gets the hint and pulls it over her head - pauses for a moment, before taking her glasses off as well. 

The look she turns to Vika is a little vulnerable then. Trust and trepidation all together in the ink-spots of her eyelashes, the coal of her irises; her arms come up, automatically, to wrap in front of her belly and Vika darts forward to catch them in careful hands.

She kisses one wrist, then the other, and places them pointedly by Yuuri’s sides.

Yuuri never looks dubious during sex or foreplay - for some reason her anxiety takes a back-seat when faced with the very real and present evidence that Vika is interested in her. But she can be cautious, like she’s being now. Still a little hung up on the shape she takes off the ice, as if she’s anything less than heavenly in any form. As if Vika couldn’t love the fullness of her, the way she blooms and glows with contentment, able to enjoy all the katsudon she likes, when she likes.

Vika presses love to her fingertips with a kiss, then trails them over Yuuri’s lips. Traces the shape of her mouth with them, before drawing a line down her jaw, her throat - she feels her swallow, and then she’s tucking her fingers under the straps of her bra. The lace edges feel like barbed wire in her haste - she really needs to get Yuuri into nicer underwear, underwear that _ deserves _to be pressed up against her, to hold her closer than Vika can.

She pulls until the straps are down Yuuri’s arms, and she finally sits atop Yuuri’s hips. Takes a second to enjoy the sight of her, half naked and on her way to dishevelled, before she changes tack; she leaves the bra loose, but presses her thumbs to the band of Yuuri’s panties. Pushes down, feels the way they sink into her skin, and shivers despite herself.

Vika looks up at Yuuri and drags her thumbs up in a sweep, a teasing semi-circle; Yuuri fidgets a little underneath her, not quite excited but...anticipating.

Which is fine. This is about something other than just getting off. This is a point, a praise, and Vika is fine with taking her time if she needs to. Could quite happily live her entire life between Yuuri’s thighs, cradled by power and off-season pudge.

She bends down and kisses Yuuri’s belly-button, earning a surprised little breath. Not ticklishness, but genuine bewilderment. Vika squeezes her hands round Yuuri’s hips, pulling at the edges of her (unworthy) underpants, making as if she’s going to tug them down but changing her mind halfway through the motion - instead straightening back up and letting her hands slide up Yuuri’s sides.

Yuuri’s blush has spread to her chest now, which heaves a little. Her bra hangs limply against her, and Vika takes note that it’d be a good candidate for tearing off her. _ Some other time though, this is a time for gentleness, _she thinks, curling her fingers round the roll of Yuuri’s belly, the way her body collects at the bend of her waist.

“Yuuri,” she whispers, unthinking.

Yuuri’s face seeps into a smile, and she reaches for Vika’s thigh only to have her hand caught and place, firmly, down again. The message clear: ‘this is You Time’.

Vika can’t help grinding down a little though, letting out a slightly showy gasp and pressing down - the seam of her own trousers is positioned just right, and she’s maybe a little grabbier when she returns her hands to exploring Yuuri’s body.

They do so in slow sweeps, mapping swell and curve; encircling Yuuri’s stomach in a steady spiral, then up to dance along the bottom of her rib-cage. She’s heavy enough at the minute that Vika has to press a little to feel the bone, and Yuuri gasps when she does so. She moves on, to the skin beneath her breasts, teasing and touching the wire of her bra.

“I hate this bra,” she tells Yuuri, “and when we’re finished, we’re buying you a nicer one.”

“Okay,” Yuuri replies much as if Vika told her they had an appointment with a sponsor, “but I get vetoing rights.”

Vika yanks the loose cups down and purses her lips thoughtfully at her exposed nipples.

“But that’s no fun.”

Any reply Yuuri has is knocked out of her by Vika’s fingers spreading, groping over her breasts. Greedy where she’s been generous so far, as fascinated as she is appreciative by Yuuri’s chest. She rocks gently against the seam of her trousers, against Yuuri, and drags delicately down the swell of her breasts before taking her dark nipples under her thumbs.

Yuuri breathes out shakily, and it sounds very nearly like Vika’s name. Vika rubs her thumbs in circles. Slow, firm, until Yuuri’s nipples are peaked, hard against Vika’s fingers; she knows how Yuuri likes to be touched, and she pinches. Hard enough that Yuuri’s breath hitches, but not so hard she actually hurts - isn’t sure she could hurt Yuuri even if the woman herself asked, to be honest.

“You’re lovely,” Vika says, simply. Words at odds with the way she’s groping Yuuri’s chest, how she has her unclothed beneath her. But she means them, with every inch of her body, with every grasp and tug.

She leans down to kiss her, to breathe the words into her mouth, her lungs. Yuuri kisses back like she understands, fluent in the language of Vika (of poor impulse control, of bone-shaking, jaw-dropping affection) and her tongue feeds back ‘I believe you’, in a slick, messy moment.

She humours them both for it. Kiss deepening, bodies pressing until her hands are caught between them and their legs are tangled together. It makes rocking hard, but Vika has something different in mind now, appetite whetted and wanting, so much, to fill Yuuri with the knowledge, the confidence in her body and its gorgeousness that she won’t be able to doubt to weeks - months.

But right now Yuuri is insistent and writhing and Vika can’t deny her. She manages to free her hands, drag them back down Yuuri’s body to sit on her waist, two fingers sliding between her panties and her skin. It’s almost adolescent, in all honesty. Making out in her bedroom, disorganised and restless with the need to get close, to almost crawl under one another’s skin with impatience.

Vika shifts so she’s lying on her side, half over Yuuri. Slips her right hand into the waistband of Yuuri’s panties properly, taking advantage of the kiss to tease her fingers across the crease of her thigh. Cramped by the fabric, pressing and pinching, she swallows the noise Yuuri makes when her fingers follow her thigh to what’s between. They delve down, then back, tracing two fingers along the lips of her sex. 

Yuuri jerks back, out of the kiss, and whines Vika’s name. Vika repeats the motion once, twice. Touch feather-light, just occasionally dipping between. She sprawls, meanwhile, raising her head on her other hand so she can watch Yuuri stretch, strain under her. The way her belly shakes on a harsh breath; the way her breasts roll when she arches, as Vika slides her fingers down in a vee around her clit.

“Oh,” Yuuri says, “_ oh _.”

Vika teases her again for a bit. Rubs her fingers down, then up, almost thoughtfully. Like she’s doing absently, an afterthought as she looks Yuuri over. Yuuri gives her a hooded look, lips wet from kissing and brows furrowed from frustration.

_“Vika_.” She commands.

Vika leans down to kiss her again, and touches her properly. Strokes, rubs until Yuuri’s gripping her forearm, urging her to press harder. Faster. Vika ignores this and instead pushes her hand further between Yuuri’s thighs, knuckles pushed against the wet-spot on her panties and finger tips trailing, almost indulgently down, before slipping inside her. She takes a second to circle her entrance, to rub at the warmth just inside that always makes Yuuri swear; she’s quiet this time, save for her breathing, ragged and shallow.

Vika pushes in further, thumb circling Yuuri’s clit in tandem with the thrust of her fingers. She moves, shifts so that she can yank the panties with her other hand, but doesn’t get much further than Yuuri’s thighs - thick as they are now - and so she lets them sit there, mid-thigh, binding Yuuri’s legs together and keeping her fingers tight inside her.

Yuuri moans, twists a little to try and get herself closer, to spread her legs and pull Vika’s fingers deeper. As if such a thing was even possible, when Vika’s fucking her earnestly, pressing and flexing and making Yuuri rock, gracefully, under her hand.

“Look at you,” Vika whispers, “how couldn’t I love you?”

It’s a stupid question, because the answer is that there’s no way she couldn’t. Vika was a goner the minute Yuuri was made in this world, the minute they stepped into the same room. Her heart is in her mouth as much as her words, rent and splintered by the sight of Yuuri flushed, needy beneath her.

_ I made her feel that, I make her feel like this_, she thinks, in a mantra, as she brings her close - so close she’s shaking apart, hand vice tight on Vika’s arm and pressing her gasping moans into Vika’s shoulder.

Yuuri’s body is as taut as it is soft, drawn into concert by Vika’s touch - and it’s an honour to be the only one to get to see this. To see her like this. Vika is drawn, helplessly, to lave love onto her. She wants her, as much as she wants to see her happy, and she presses a gentle kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. Strokes her side soothingly and rolls her onto her back again, kisses down the hills and divots of her body until she has to stop. Smiles at Yuuri’s disappointed whine when she extricates her hand, and the startled yelp she lets out when Victor rips the panties off her with the cracking tear of fabric.

“Vika!” She gasps, “I _ liked _them!” 

Vika beams, and slides her fingers up Yuuri’s thighs, pushing them apart. Yuuri goes, easily - Vika feels blessed, knows full-well that she’s the only person Yuuri goes easily for. She kisses each patch of skin she comes across as she crawls up Yuuri’s legs, sinks teeth into the meat of Yuuri’s thigh - one either side, before she buries her face between them. Kisses, feasts like she’s starving - one hand round Yuuri’s hip, the other slipping under, grabbing Yuuri’s ass shamelessly. 

It’s worship then. Pure, focused adoration. Vika revels in tasting Yuuri, as much as she pushes her own pleasure upwards, to the tip of her tongue. She can feel Yuuri moving with her, fingers coming down to clasp at Vika’s hair and _ tug. _She’s wanted here, needed. And she needs Yuuri to feel all that’s in her heart, her head, whenever she sees Yuuri pulling at her own belly fat, frowning at the way a top sits too tight or too high. The ravaging wildfire of attraction and beauty, held between the palms of her hands, the frantic clasp of her fingers, the ways she kisses desperation between her legs.

“Vika-” She hears, around the same time Yuuri’s thighs close, cushion her head. Not quite there, but tilting, inching closer.

When Yuuri’s close she always curls in on herself, like she’s hiding her body from the crash of orgasm; Vika feels her shift, try to do the same now, and gently, firmly, moves her hands to push down on her hips. A note, a request, a ‘please’ without words. She spirals, heady, drunk on how Yuuri feels between her lips and tongue. She spills it over into her movements, and the keening wail she gets in reply is muffled by the crush of Yuuri’s legs against her ears.

She thinks, for a second, that maybe she’s died. Suffocation or shock, or something else entirely. She’s dead and she’s in heaven, and heaven is Yuuri, wrapped, heaving around her. Shaking, tension and tingling, while she whispers Vika’s name like a prayer. Coming down with Vika’s ascending, soul to the sky and body heavy without it, held up by Yuuri’s hands tugging painfully at her scalp.

Vika keeps licking, sucking, until Yuuri weakly pushes her away. She has about enough wits left to stop, pull back, kiss the red bite-mark on Yuuri’s thigh and then - then look at her. Spread over the bedsheets, boneless, spent, utterly unselfconscious.

Her breath stops in her throat, and she freezes where she kneels, after reluctantly letting Yuuri’s legs slide from her shoulders as she pulled back.

She looks like artwork in repose. One hand across her belly, curling and uncurling. The other still drifting back, dreamily, from where it was knotted in Vika’s hair. Every bit of her on display, and their hearts thudding together make the picture frame. Yuuri’s lips are bitten red, eyelids fluttering as she gathers her thoughts from wherever Vika managed to send them, and her hair is a fluffy mess against the bedsheets.

“I wish you could see you,” Vika says gently, seriously, “the way I see you.”

Yuuri’s eyes open. By millimetres, unfolding miles between each eyelid, the distance and length of Vika’s future, her hopes. She looks at Vika, unabashed, and Vika could burst. With the love she feels, with the need to know if she did good - if Yuuri understands how good _ she _is.

She looks at Vika, and she _ looks_. Peering up at her, as if seeing right through, and it sends a shiver through Vika’s spine.

“Sometimes,” Yuuri replies, on the tail-end of a fresh smile, “I think I do.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vika: I'm not horny  
Vika: ..._unless_
> 
> This chapter's title is from 'Feels Like Forever' by Lacey Sturm.


	2. Et Je Vais T'avaler.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Two prompt: Favourite food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet (hopefully :D)! Features a couple of my personal headcanons re: Vika and Yuuri. 
> 
> Go, go ice lesbians!

* * *

Vika’s plan goes something like this:

**Step One:** Locate Yuuri

**Step Two:** Nips out

**Step Three:** ????

**Step Four:** Successfully acquire adorable sex-goddess girlfriend, and also eat some authentic Japanese cuisine.

(It’s not a euphemism until she gets a full, unimpeded view of Yuuri’s bare ass one evening, as she’s darting, half-dressed through her bedroom door. It’s the best three seconds of Vika’s life so far, and she wants to be sat on so bad she considers retiring to become Yuuri’s personal chair.)

Basically, she’s done for. _ Thirst, thy name is Viktoria _ . And somewhere up there must be a god smiling down on her gay ass, because in the space of twelve months she has _ locked that shit down. _

Of course, by that point, Yuuri is so much more to her. And she to Yuuri. But the fact remains that there has been a deficit of woo on her own end - who would have guessed Yuuri was a natural at sweeping unwitting lesbians off their feet? (Vika, that’s who, and she was the most unwitting, most lesbian, most swept of them all.) This is something that must be rectified.

So, she attempts to learn how to make katsudon. It’s a mixed success, judging from Yuuri’s considering expression as she chews. The way her nose scrunches up, thoughtfully, before she swallows and gives Vika a sweet smile.

“Thank you,” she says, very seriously, and with the look behind her eyes that says ‘you tried’.

_ Okay _ , Vika thinks. _ So katsudon’s not my strength. That’s fine, I have a whole lifetime to perfect it. _

The thought flies out of her head when Yuuri kisses her with slightly greasy lips, and then there’s not much thinking at all after that.

* * *

“Yuuri~” 

Yuuri turns, lips parted, ready to respond, and says something that says “Ye-uhm?” as Vika pushes a chocolate into her mouth.

She stares. Looks half alarmed, half disappointed in herself for falling for it. After a moment she chews, slowly, and gives Vika a narrow look.

“You don’t have to do that every time,” Yuuri says, once she’s finally finished the sweet.

She’s smiling though, which means she doesn’t really mind; ‘secretly pleased’ is Vika’s favourite expression on Yuuri’s face (when it’s not ‘confused at game level’, or ‘indignant because someone dared suggest she can’t’, or, a recurring favourite, ‘I should be mad at you but you just made me come so you’re off the hook’). After a moment, she pushes her glasses back up her nose, and sits up a little straighter. Hands curled delicately in her lap.

Vika wastes no time and moves. Lets her legs sprawl over Yuuri’s thighs then hooks them round her waist; she retrieves another chocolate from the box and studies the flavour guide that came with it. Apparently this white chocolate with a coffee flavoured filling. Vika reaches to press it into Yuuri’s mouth again, only to be stopped by Yuuri taking her firmly, gently, by the wrist, and biting it neatly from between her fingers. Teeth catching just a little at Vika’s skin, pressing but not painful.

She chews, looking back at Vika with shiny amusement dancing around her dark eyes. Then she swallows. Licks her lips for good measure.

Vika is _ parched _. Her voice is a little croaky when she speaks, like she’s been wandering the desert for years, only to come across the most boundless, vital oasis of them all.

“Good?”

“Mm.” Yuuri nods. “More than the other one.”

‘The other one’ was a sweet vanilla thing, and Vika can’t help screwing her own nose up a little.

“I can’t believe you prefer coffee to vanilla.”

“I don’t-” 

Yuuri stops herself, and flushes. Looks down at her hands, which she wrings in her lap until Vika puts the chocolate box down and takes them, gently, between her own. Wraps her fingers round Yuuri’s, toys absently with both their rings.

“Yuuri.” She puts just enough of a whine into it that Yuuri looks up at her again, looking sheepish.

“I, um. Don’t actually really like sweet things that much.”

“Oh.”

Vika unsubtly elbows the box of chocolates under the table. That’s _ that _one ticked off the list, she supposes.

Yuuri looks a little guilty, even as Vika creeps closer and cuddles her. Slips wandering fingers under the hem of her shirt to stroke the roll of her belly there.

“I mean, I...I will eat them,” she explains, “but they’re not my favourite thing?”

“You don’t have to, I just thought it’d be nice to share them.”

Yuuri raises a hand to Vika’s chin, and tilts it upwards so she can kiss her. Chaste but lingering, the taste of coffee turning it bitter, even as it’s unbearably sweet. 

Her shirt is thin enough that Vika can feel her warmth as she runs her hands up, back down her sides. Lets them rest on Yuuri’s hips, and when they part, any trace of a pout has been thoroughly pushed off her own mouth.

“Are there any more of the coffee ones?” Yuuri asks, lips curled just this side of sardonic.

Vika feigns disgust, even as she laughs and grabs for the box again.

* * *

“Oh my god,” Yuuri whispers, lovestruck, _ awestruck _. “I’m going to marry you.”

Vika, sitting beside her in the booth, feels about as offended as she does charmed. She’s never seen the appeal of this particular brand of fast food (has mixed feelings about fast food in general), but Yuuri is apparently ready and willing to elope with a cheeseburger.

She peers down at her own food. A dubiously fresh salad pales somewhat in comparison. At the very least she’s sure it won’t elicit any semi-orgasmic moaning. Speaking of which…

Yuuri’s cheeks are pink, and she looks embarrassed when she catches Vika watching her. Puts the half-eaten burger down, swallows and opens her mouth to say something - then changes her mind and buries herself in her drink. As if she wants to drown the words in slightly lukewarm water before they can escape her mouth.

Vika slides her hand onto Yuuri’s thigh.

“This is the worst wrap I’ve ever had,” she tells Yuuri, with the same tone as if she’d won the lottery.

Yuuri stops drinking and drops her hand to clutch Vika’s, relief, understanding spreading across her face.

“It’s disgusting, right?”

“I can feel my arteries hardening, and I picked the salad, Yuuri.”

Yuuri nods, face lighting up with laughter. Something nostalgic falls over her and she sits back in their seat. She brushes her fringe out of her eyes, and speaks with a wistful tone.

“Mari used to bring me here when she babysat me. Usually if she’d done something she didn’t want me to tell our parents…” 

The image of a tiny Yuuri being bribed with awful fast-food is by turns adorable and awful. She deserved at least moderately acceptable burgers and fries. Vika picks at her own food while Yuuri reminisces, eventually losing self-consciousness enough to pick up her burger and tuck in again. Talking between bites.

“One time she burnt a hole in the family room mats with a cigarette. She thought she was going to die if they found out, so she brought me here, bought me a meal, and tried to coach me about what ‘really happened’.”

“Which was?”

“‘I don’t know how that got there, Mari was with me the whole time!’”

Yuuri smiles wickedly, and adds, “She learned the hard way I can’t be bought that easily.”

Vika, whose own sisters spent most of their childhood alternating between clannish loyalty and outright _ violence _, nods knowingly.

“Midday special, at least.”

Yuuri’s eyes crease with the force of her smile; Vika’s heart _ thu-thumps _in her chest, and she returns the crush Yuuri’s fingers have on hers.

“You get me,” Yuuri murmurs, immediately before swallowing the last bite of burger.

Vika is devastated, dazed. Watches helplessly as Yuuri takes her hand away and wipes her fingers on the red tissues provided by the...what can only be generously described as a ‘diner’ that they’re sat in.

_ Not yet, not quite, _ she thinks, wondering how many other little food memories there are like this for Yuuri. The pure, simple happiness of a full belly and good times. Ones she hopes to add to. To take her on silly, movie-perfect dates, where they hold hands and share plates.

Yuuri sighs, leans against her, and Vika kisses the top of her head. Content to leave her own meal in favour of being Yuuri’s support.

“Um.”

“Yeah?” She whispers, just a little winded.

Yuuri reaches for the tray on the table.

“Are you going to finish that?”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is from Auf der Maur's 'Taste You'.
> 
> ...It is not about food.


	3. She Says I Smell Like Safety And Home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Three: Warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments! I was very nervous about writing fem-viktuuri and I'm so happy to see people enjoying it :D
> 
> This chapter is basically me grabbing the 'Victor is the sort of evil who shoves his freezing hands under Yuuri's shirt' headcanon and running full-speed with it.

* * *

She wakes up to warmth. All-encompassing, like a coal-fire starting deep in her gut and seeping, steadily outwards. Having spent the last week waking up to the St. Petersburg chill creeping in, it makes a nice change.

Yuuri goes to roll over, but finds herself anchored to the mattress. When she looks down there’s pale arms wrapped firmly round her middle, and she takes a moment to realise that those are, in fact, not her own limbs. Still halfway to fully awake, she clumsily drops her own hand atop the one spread across her stomach - it’s cool, familiar, the golden ring smooth to touch.

Remembering dawns like the day and she smiles to nobody. The thought that, _ oh yeah, Vika sleeps here too _, is soothing and sunny enough to stir her into proper wakefulness. She wriggles until Vika’s grip lessens a fraction, and she’s finally able to roll onto her side.

Yuuri peers at her fiancée; Vika is sprawled in an arrow across the bed, long legs hanging out the quilt and her face pressed into Yuuri’s shoulder.

Yuuri could object to being used as a pillow, but with each snore from Vika’s chest she feels affection sawing its way into her heart. Also her tits are pressed firmly against Yuuri’s side, and Yuuri has to take a second to appreciate the fact that the Vika Nikiforova sleeps nude, and _ with her _.

(“What if someone sees?” She’d asked, a little alarmed, the first time she realised that Vika’s nudity was habitual and not just a rather ill thought out seduction attempt. Which it was, absolutely, but also, apparently Vika is just Like That.

Vika’d replied cheerily, “I guess you’ll just have to protect my honour, Yuuri~”)

Vika, every pale inch on display, is half out of the quilt, half sneaking under Yuuri’s nightie; Yuuri enjoys the way she’s squeezed, held close as much as one can when their partner has the world’s boniest elbows. Moving must have stirred Vika a little because she frowns in her sleep and tries to sneak a cold hand under Yuuri’s nightie material.

“Oh no, you don’t,” she whispers, and firmly grips the fingers playing at her nightgown hem. 

Yuuri relocates the hand to her hip, where it quickly moulds to the shape of her body. Squeezes once at the layer of thickness Yuuri’s acquired in the off-season, and Vika makes a happy, humming noise. Her lips turn up, smile heart-shaped even in sleep. Somehow dynamic even like this, limbs gangling and heart beating inches away from Yuuri’s own.

Yuuri is rarely up before her, so this is a rare opportunity to just...be. To burrow back under the sheets and doze, exult in the warmth they’re sharing, the way their bodies fill all the spaces and gaps with heat and comfort and _ safety _.

Vika shifts again, and Yuuri gasps at the cold brush of her knees as Vika curls upwards. Yin to Yuuri’s yang. She’s always cool in the morning, leaching warmth from Yuuri’s body shamelessly; in a funny way it seems to help, to stop them overheating. Like they regulate one another, to make the perfect sleeping temperature.

With snow flurries outside, and the furry furnace of Makkachin across the bottom of the bed, it’s much appreciated. Yuuri strokes one hand through Vika’s hair, and Vika presses closer, practically on top of her now. Her snores have quieted, settled enough that she’s almost certainly nearly awake, and her grip on Yuuri tightens.

Yuuri wants, for a heart-stopping moment, to grip her back. Even tighter. Remind herself that all this is real, that there’s a person in bed next to her - and that it’s Vika.

Vika who really wants to be here with Yuuri. With her bare chest against the ratty Doraemon t-shirt Yuuri wears as a nightie; her legs creeping to tangle with Yuuri’s, cold toes wiggling against Yuuri’s calves; the vibration of her snores rattling through Yuuri’s bones like an earthquake. She’s a font of noise and movement and Yuuri feels more sure of herself than ever right now, close enough to see the start of laughter-lines round her eyes, the faded freckles on her cheeks. _ The way she keeps trying to slip her cold fingers under her shirt. _

“Vika.” Yuuri uses the full-force of her ‘I love you but you’re a little shit’ voice, slapping away the hand trying to stealth its way onto her ass.

Vika pouts, eyes opening until a sliver of her pale iris is visible. She stops her slow slide into Yuuri’s space, bumps herself fully against Yuuri and stretches so she can rest her head on the same pillow.

“You’re warm,” she moans, “Yuuri, save me from the cold.”

“You could just try wearing clothes,” Yuuri says, even as she wraps herself round Vika, matching her koala-like cling.

Vika makes a satisfied noise, smiles and places a smacking kiss to Yuuri’s lips.

“But that’s less fun,” she says, “and you’re so good at warming me up.”

“Hmm,” is all Yuuri can reply, somewhat distracted by the way Vika’s nipples are pressing into her.

She kisses the playful look off her face, soft, syrupy movements occupying Vika’s lips so she can’t give any more cheek. Even the air they share is warm, and parting is more like a slow seeping, dissipation. Vika is blushing a little, and her fingers are less cold where they sit, between Yuuri’s skin and her shirt.

It’s familiar. Familiar in that it’s home, yes, but something else crawls up out of the depths of Yuuri’s brain. Déjà vu. Flickers of this same view over the last week, in bed, in the bathroom - Vika sneaking up to her in the kitchen and circling her arms round Yuuri’s middle. Pressing her face to Yuuri’s neck, and just...staying there. Lips cool against her skin, fingers chilly when they dipped beneath clothing and _ oh _.

Yuuri narrows her eyes.

“Have you been using me as a heat source?”

Vika’s expression flies into one of wide-eyed ‘Who? Me?’, which means she absolutely _ has _, and Yuuri shoves her gently away. Plasters on a look of great offence while Vika protests, whines Yuuri’s name over and over while she tries to get her hands under her nightie again.

Yuuri’s not a morning person, but she has superior reflexes once awake, and successfully bats her hands away. Sharp enough to fill the air with little slap sounds, not quite hard enough for it to hurt - though, the way Vika keeps trying suggests she wouldn’t mind much if it did.

This goes on for a few minutes. Long enough that they both lose their masks in the process, smiling and laughing breathlessly; Vika squeezes the spot just above Yuuri’s knee, Yuuri’s squeaks and slaps her hand down so hard that the ‘crack’ sound makes Makka jerk awake, and Vika flinches.

“Oh -” Yuuri gathers the hand up to look at it, “shit, sorry-”

“Yuuri.” Vika says with her eyes like saucers, free hand clenching then unclenching at Yuuri’s side. “Yuuri if I ask you very nicely, will you please do that again?”

Yuuri throws her hand onto the pillow with an exasperated sigh.

“It’s too early for sexual awakenings, Vika.”

She sits up finally, warm air escaping the bedsheets. When she looks down, Vika has propped herself up on on elbow and is staring up at her with very, very alter eyes.

Vika says, seriously, “it is never too early for sexual awakenings.” Then she shivers, the sheets having pooled around her belly button with Yuuri’s movements. Adds, “But it _ can _be too cold.”

_ Weak _, Yuuri thinks, before sinking back down to cuddle into Vika’s chest. Hides her bashful smile at the delighted noise Vika makes before enveloping Yuuri in her long limbs again.

_ Weak. Weak, _ ** _weak_ ** _ , _her brain repeats, and frankly, she’s not sure which one of them it’s talking about. The pair of them as adept at pulling strings as each other; mirror images when they’re not glued together, a pile of form and feeling when they are.

“I’ll always keep you warm,” she finds herself whispering.

Vika strokes her arm and says, shyly, “You do. Even when you’re not in the room.”

_ Well _ . Yuuri thinks.

_ I don’t mind being weak if it’s for you. _

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri: Hey, where do you keep the clothes you sleep in?  
Vika: The what I what in?  
  
Song title from that most soft wlw of wlw tracks, 'She Keeps Me Warm' by Mary Lambert :3c
> 
> From this point on this fic is entering The Bone Zone pretty hard, so if you're not here for sex the next few chapters probably won't be your thing!


	4. Such Selfish Prayers, And I Can't Get Enough.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Four: Indulgence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit steamy from here on out, so if you don't want to read explicit (and some implicit) sex, the next few chapters might not be for you. I am attempting to flex my smut muscles somewhat here, so...let me know how that goes? :D

* * *

Yuuri loves hotel rooms. Hotel rooms are great. They’re neat and private and perfect for appreciating your gorgeous, glorious girlfriend being gorgeous and glorious. Which Vika is. Even right now, dressed in silky, ribboned things that could be generously described as underwear (_lingerie_, Yuuri thinks, _Vika Nikiforova is wearing lingerie, for me_) while she sits cross-legged on their bed, scowling at the television screen.

She’s trying to put something other than the evening news on, but seems to be struggling with the remote control, quietly threatening it in Russian with a dangerously pleasant tone. It’s menacing but hot. Yuuri’s not sure she truly understood the appeal of dangerous until right now, listening to Vika tell a television remote all the inventive ways she’s going to dispose of it if it doesn’t cooperate.

Yuuri watches her. Takes a moment to enjoy the show, the way Vika’s robe slides down her arms as she gives up and tosses the remote to the floor. It’s a nice view. A great view. It’s a view Yuuri very much wants unimpeded as she slips further under the bedsheets, feeling warm and loved and so very safe.

They’re on a brief European trip (‘brief’ meaning ‘as long as it takes to have sex in at least five different countries’) and Vika booked them a nice hotel while in Geneva visiting Chris. Not that they couldn’t stay with Chris if they wanted - Chris had, in fact, offered - but trying to get any _special alone private time_ is impossible at her place because apparently she owns Every Single Cat and each one of them wants to sleep on Yuuri. For the sake of Vika’s jealousy, not least her own libido, Yuuri had suggested they consider other options.

Thus, the hotel. It’s a family-run place that got bigger than the owners expected, as explained during check-in by the very chatty receptionist (apparently the owner’s granddaughter). It shows in how Vika and Yuuri’s room is decorated like a magazine spread but suffused with some sweet, secure feeling. A warm shroud over them, blocking out the world; it’s just Yuuri and Vika, in a room. Giving one another appraising glances.

“At least the room-service is straightforward,” Yuuri says, when Vika pouts, defeated by the TV. “Maybe you could ask them for some batteries.”

Vika’s face turns playful, leering. She poses and lets the robe slide entirely off her left side, giving Yuuri an excited flutter somewhere beneath the bed sheets; her bra is more or less a ribbon, ready to fall apart with one tug. She might as well be topless which, now Yuuri thinks about it, is sort of the point of lingerie, isn’t it? Particularly expensive wrapping paper on a particularly exquisite gift.

Yuuri hides her flush with the sheets and feels remarkably underdressed in her soft slip - an indulgence she’d felt fairly daring about, until Vika’d appeared in the bathroom doorway wearing _that_.

“Yuuri, are you saying we need...batteries to have fun?” She purrs.

Yuuri doesn’t quite know how, but the spirit of Eros possesses her - or at least, her mouth - and she retorts, “I don’t know. Do you think we do?”

She gives Vika a look over the sheets, and there’s a flicker, a change from playful to _pointed. _The robe is discarded and Vika slides gracefully into Yuuri’s lap, where she trails her hands up Yuuri’s thighs over the sheet. Palms hot and fingers dancing, sending little darting sparks through Yuuri’s skin.

“I think...you’ve earned a private performance.” Vika says, voice low enough that Yuuri can feel it all the way down to her toes. Promising, teasing, everything _Vika_.

Yuuri feels like she’s being spoiled, somehow. Wined and dined with hotel room tea and the promise of room service; with Vika sensuous and shifting in her lap. She swallows, and lets the sheet fall when Vika starts gently pulling at it. Watches it expose her, like a curtain pulled back, to Vika’s dancing eyes.

She inhales, then sighs “oh, Yuuri”, like she’s having a revelation. Like the air’s been punched out of her.

Yuuri shifts a little, tries to look casual, unbothered by Vika’s rapturous stare. She can feel her skin prickling, the hairs on her arms standing on end as goosebumps follow the path of Vika’s pale gaze across her body. 

If the black material of her slip felt thin before, it might as well be air now. 

There’s a rush of movement as Vika whips the sheets up and off, throwing them to the floor and returning to Yuuri’s lap with a ravenous smile; Yuuri lifts her chin just so, and Vika pauses. Rests her hands on Yuuri’s knees, stroking absently at the hem of her slip - gauzy little circles against her skin.

“This is just for me, right?” Yuuri says as she reaches up, wraps her arms around Vika’s shoulders and kisses a line from her chin to the edge of her jaw. Avoids her mouth, save for the tiniest catch on the pink corner of a smile, and sighs, put-upon, into Vika’s ear. “My own, Vika…”

“Yes.” 

Vika sounds winded, and her fingers slip up - under the slip, a pilgrimage across Yuuri’s thighs.

“You deserve it, all of it -” she manages to twist out of Yuuri’s grip enough to kiss her cheek, the corner of her mouth, before adding, “let me spoil you, won’t you?”

Her words are warm across Yuuri’s lips, so close that they could be kissing as they talk, words and movements so much the same that Yuuri thinks they could understand one another without English, without a single word of one shared language between them.

Yuuri lets her hands fall to her shoulders, atop the soft ribbon of her ridiculous, magnificent bra. Drags her fingertips down, following the path the ribbons shape across fine collarbone, round the curve of her breast.

Vika inhales, eyes fluttering shut as Yuuri’s fingers trace feather-light patterns; the ribbon material is so sleek, so pleasing to touch, that Yuuri can’t help herself, circling around the shape of Vika’s nipples. She drags her fingers from the ribbon, ghosting down the sides of exposed chest, and presses her thumbs where the material peaks. She stops there, fingers still stroking slightly at the sensitive skin either side of where her thumbs sit, and lets her teeth graze Vika’s bottom lip.

“Always,” Yuuri whispers, and it’s like a light flickers on, like a current is sent through Vika’s body with the words.

She chases Yuuri’s lips with a deep, reverent kiss. Lips and heat, pooling like honey on Yuuri’s tongue, and it’s heady. Makes her sway, fall headlong into it; transference, transferring, all the words that there’s not enough space in English for, finding home in the plentiful space between their ribs. They fall back against the pillows, weight shifting and sliding against one another. One of Vika’s knees creeps between Yuuri’s thighs, and just the presence of it is enough to make her shake.

Yuuri _needs _already, gossamer wisps of fabric making promises Vika pledges to keep with her hands sweeping upwards, over the fabric, over Yuuri’s abdomen, her belly. Mapping out the landscape of her body, like they’ve never before felt its swell. Burning expectation left in their wake.

She feels wanted - wants, and so she _pinches, _sweeps her thumb over Vika’s nipple soothingly, and pinches again. Repeats it until Vika has to stop kissing her, exhaling shakily on some _foul-sounding Russian_ curse-word. Her pale eyes dark with hunger, her strong fingers grabbing, greedily under Yuuri’s slip.

“Sweetheart,” Vika finally says, voice thick and lips distractingly red, “I promise to buy you a new one.”

“What?” Yuuri asks, as there’s the sound of rending fabric, and the rush of cool air against her skin.

She yelps out a scandalised “Vika!”, and it shouldn’t be as attractive as it is, Vika apparently being both impatient and strong enough to rip her nice, new slip from her body, but an electrifying shiver spirals down Yuuri’s spine, and she _throbs_. Her legs slide apart of their own will, as if trying to alleviate some of the weight, the faint, pleasurable press; as if bracing themselves against the mattress while Vika destroyed yet another of Yuuri’s undergarments, utterly unconcerned for cost and decorum in her need to get hands on flesh, _now_.

Vika straddles one of Yuuri’s thighs, and _touches_. Dives, ecstatic at first, roving and grasping until Yuuri’s fingers tighten, and she _yanks _the ribbons from Vika’s chest. The red strips dangle, dance between their bodies and Vika’s touches turn slower. Searching. Pressing and stroking in ley-lines across Yuuri’s torso; turning tortuous, dragging when she finds the spots that make Yuuri draw in breath. 

One line up her left side, and Yuuri stretches, swallows; a circle round her navel and her hips jerk, make her gasp; her thumbs trail in parallels down her abdomen, towards her inner thighs and Yuuri reaches out, up, to grope Vika’s breasts again. Moaning no recognisable words, but there’s meaning all the same.

Vika hears, and understands, and kisses her again. Presses her thumbs just inside Yuuri’s inner-thigh, before taking them in a slow, slow side to where Yuuri wants them to be - to where she’s wet and aching. All the while shaping ‘love you’ in the push and pull of their lips. 

Yuuri feels exposed but held - aloft on a podium of Vika’s making, even as she shifts and shivers beneath her; the tails of ribbon tickle while Vika moves down her body, and it’s like foreshadowing, like the trickle of the tide before the crashing wave of Vika’s kiss on flesh. Heat blossoms, blooms between Yuuri’s legs, between her lungs, and then Vika looks up. 

Her hair is a veil, and Yuuri reaches out to lift it, to smile down at her. Vika beams back, wicked and wondrous all at once. Her long fingers slip away, slide up, then down Yuuri’s thighs in appreciation. Push gently, so gently, until she parts with a sharp inhale. Needs air like she needs Vika on her, in her, just - _her_.

She’s left for a moment. Hanging in suspense, shredded slip parted like a book-cover, while Vika studies the pages. The room is warm but she feels cold, somehow, without the weight of the other woman on her; she feels restless, empty, in both the metaphorical and literal sense. Her own chest rising and falling like she’s been running, and she allows herself to be smug at the way Vika’s eyes drop, darken and fixate on it. Preens a little bit, arches her back for show, so she gets an eyeful of her. Straining, shaking for _something_.

Vika licks her lips, and she’s a danger again. Could kill someone with the flicker of pink over her lips, the absolute focus on her face. 

Yuuri flashes her a smirk; Vika’s resolve snaps, and she buries her face between Yuuri’s legs.

Her fingers grab, sinking sharp little love-bites into Yuuri’s thighs as she holds her (firmly, but more gentle than it seems), and this will bruise, Yuuri knows it will. Whines at the thought of purple and blue petals blooming across her skin. Her own fingers flailing, finding the pillow case and rending, as Vika teases her open with a burning kiss.

“Oh,” is all Yuuri can say as her heart is torn open, pared and bared on the glut of Vika’s tongue. 

It presses flat in hot swipes that seem to go on forever, then she brings Yuuri to bear on the tip; sucks a rhythm, dances a spiral around her clit. Has Yuuri keening for the length, and struggling for air on the breadth. Pleasure pooling then spilling out, like a spilt drink - iced then hot, then all Yuuri can think about - from where she seems intent on _devouring _her. A singularity of shock, sending every impulse, every shred of sensation _down_. 

Yuuri becomes two points of perception: her head, swimming in Vika, _Vika, yes_; what lies between her legs - namely Vika, touching so intimately, as if she lives inside Yuuri’s head, as if she knows what she wants before Yuuri does. It’s a tumble, head-over-feet, into senselessness beside _sensation_. 

Vika moans, loud and throaty, and the rumble has Yuuri _sobbing. _Tensing, wanting so bad to bring her thighs together again, to rub and push at her own pace. Wanting to be held just like she is, like she’s precious, the most precious thing, against her own destructive impulse. 

She’s safe here, flayed open in a strange bedroom, on a bed that won’t remember the shapes they make on top of it. A five-time world champion worshipping, waiting on her - her favourite person in the world, doing their favourite thing, because they know exactly how Yuuri likes to break apart. Coddled and protected and cored utterly open.

Vika’s mouth is dangerous, and Yuuri bares herself willingly, rasping breath in tandem with the creak of the mattress beneath. She looks and all she sees, knows how to see is Vika’s silver head, a full-stop between the cradle of her thighs, moving like she’s transported herself - and where she wants to be is eating Yuuri out, with a single-minded focus normally reserved for showing the world that no one can stand above her.

Yuuri twists, and raises her knees so her feet are flat against the bed. She can push back a little against Vika’s mouth, against the way she drinks Yuuri in like water, like a tangle of a kiss she can’t break away from. The pressure is nearly too much, damming her in, bursting, swelling where there’s nowhere else for it to go.

_I’m close, _Yuuri wants to tell her, to thank her and tell her how _good _she is to her, how good she looks after her. But her words are lost in the strain of pleasure, how it turns Yuuri’s body useless, grasping at bedsheets and bleeding out a wail, so loud she’s not actually sure it came from herself at first. 

Vika doesn’t stop, and neither does Yuuri’s body, unthreading, taut around her. She comes and she _comes_, and she’s so far out of herself she’s not sure she can come back down. Head thrown back, back arched so hard that Vika has to cling on to keep suckling, licking - the keep the taste of her in her mouth. Reluctant to let her go, even as she gasps, heaves, begs soundlessly for _something_.

“Please,” Yuuri manages to say, once she starts to remember that, oh yeah, she’s a person with a person-body, “god, Vika, I-”

There’s a happy noise in Vika’s mouth, and the sudden rush of cool air drying when she pulls back makes Yuuri twitch helplessly on the sheets. She pries her eyes open as Vika crawls back up her body. Eyes bright, mouth and chin shiny, which sends a throb through Yuuri, as if she’s likely to be able to do _that _again anytime soon.

She stops when she’s level with her -chest to chest - straddling her waist. The ribbons tickle over Yuuri’s chest again, and she finds herself reaching for them, clinging limply, like they’re a harness to Vika, to reality. 

Vika kisses her, pushing what little sense is starting to return right out of Yuuri’s head again. Fingers cupping her jaw tenderly, a soft reflection of how they’d clung, dug in to her legs. Indulgent with the sweep of her tongue, the way she nips ‘I know’ into Yuuri’s clumsy mouth.

Yuuri relaxes, into her arms, her lips. 

She keeps hold of the ribbons.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title was: Vika Nikiforova Callout Post: Feral, Needs To Stop Tearing Yuuri's Undies.
> 
> I spent much time ah, 'researching' fancy underwear that Yuuri and Vika might wear. 
> 
> If you're feeling up for a NSFW image guide for Vika's underwear, go ahead and google "Playboy by Coco de Mer Bow Ties Open Triangle Bra" because they are kind of wild and Coco de Mer is just the right level of ridiculous and expensive for Ms. Nikiforova, I feel.


	5. Now Hold Me 'Til I Fall Sleep.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Five: Date Night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being a lot softer than intended. Regression towards the mean I guess!
> 
> If you've read this far I hope you've been enjoying yourself and continue to enjoy :D

* * *

“They lost our reservation.” Vika explains to Yuuri when she comes back from the restaurant’s front desk, wearing the slightly haughty look of the ‘disappointed but not going to make a big deal out of it’. 

It’s the face she puts on whenever she deals with situations like this, and she’s carefully tweaked it over time to be as non-threatening as possible, while also ensuring maximum cool, calm and collectedness. Yuuri loves this look (for some reason) and her complete lack of response to it is what tips Vika off that something’s wrong.

She takes Yuuri’s hands between her own, can feel the tension and tremor there, and has to remember not to coddle her when all she wants is to pull her close under her coat and hold her until the anxiety passes.

“It’s fine,” she says lightly, “as long as you don’t ditch me too.”

Yuuri smiles miserably and finally looks her in the eye. Her skin is pale, almost sickly against the vivid blue of the dress she’s wearing. She’s drawn back, tight into herself, and Vika wonders how she missed it coming on, the nervous twitch of Yuuri’s fingers a neon sign blinking. 

Date Night isn’t supposed to be stressful, but apparently this night has something else in mind; from the power-cut that had them running late, to Makkachin throwing up a half-chewed sock on Yuuri’s outfit (and then milking the attention for all it was worth, pushing her stupid, fluffy head into their laps). 

And now the restaurant doesn’t have their reservation, while Yuuri fields an anxiety attack in the entrance hall. Excellent.

Vika kisses Yuuri’s ring finger, tucks her under her arm, and steers her back outside where there’s fresh air and, crucially, fewer people.

_ What step comes next?, _ Vika thinks, as Yuuri relaxes now she’s back outside.

Do they go home? Get takeout and watch terrible TV on the sofa together like they’ve done before? Not that Vika doesn’t love _ that _, but this was meant to be a special night. One made for Yuuri herself, that Vika could share.

As if on cue, Yuuri gives her a weak smile and says “Sorry” in a voice so quiet it’s almost lost to the night air. She becomes, somehow, acutely aware of other people’s displeasure or upset when anxious. Like her nerves pick up on the negativity in others just so it can launch it against her in a volley of self-inflicted nastiness, and if Vika can’t do anything else right tonight, she sure as hell stand in its way.

“I know you are and you don’t need to be. This is your night, Yuuri. We do whatever you want to do.” She says this gently, turning to face Yuuri fully and wrapping arms around her to lean, to linger as if she’s the burden this evening, not poor planning and anxiety. 

“But you-” Yuuri starts, sounding somewhat muffled by Vika’s hug. She’s cut short when Vika pulls back and fixes her with a pointed look.

“Whatever you want, Yuuri. Including going home. We can get food on the way, and you know Yurio’ll be thrilled to be rid of Makka.”

The little bastard’s probably tearing his hair out already; Makkachin’s favourite game is sitting with their chin on his lap and staring, balefully up at him while he tries to work out what the hell Makkachin wants. It usually ends with him swearing, storming off, and Makkachin stealing his seat the second he moves. It is a very fun game to watch, if you’re Vika.

But right now she can’t spare Yurio too much thought. She has Yuuri to wrangle.

Yuuri is looking thoughtful, brow drawn and looking down as she considers whatever options her brain deems acceptable. Even this small distraction has calmed her it seems, and Vika snuggles into her shamelessly. Sighing, pretending she’s cold for an excuse to cloister Yuuri in her arms.

She squeezes, relishes her softness, then Yuuri leans back, and says, “We passed a burger place a few streets back…”

Vika pulls back and stares at her. She looks down at their outfits: her golden, sleek dress, more suited to a five-star restaurant and chosen solely for the way it made Yuuri’s eyes go wide; Yuuri in a vivid blue piece, shorter than she’d normally wear but she’d wanted to surprise Vika apparently.

They look ready for a diplomatic banquet, not a burger joint. 

She drops her arms to take Yuuri’s hands in hers again, and beams.

“Burgers it is, my Yuuri.”

Arms linked, they make their way back the way they came. Not too far on foot for heels to be particularly dire, but Vika does briefly regret not wearing flats like Yuuri has done. It’s dark but not too late, and the burger place appears to be post-rush when they get there, booths mostly empty and staff looking shell-shocked as the two of them traipse in, fingers locked together and dressed like heiresses.

The poor girl who takes their order doesn’t seem to know which of them to stare at, cutting shy glances at Yuuri, and more wide, obvious ones at Vika.

If Yuuri notices, she manages not to let on, grasping Vika’s hand like a lifeline and giving the occasional one-word response to Vika’s chatter.

“Eating in or out?” The girl asks, and Vika looks at Yuuri, who gives the ghost of a smirk back.

“Out, please,” Vika answers, and after five minutes (spent standing awkwardly, looking incongruous under the yellow lights and bright decor), they’re carrying steaming, greasy paper bags back to the apartment.

Colour has started to come back to Yuuri’s cheeks by the time they reach their door, and Vika can’t stop herself from leaning down, mid-unlocking, to steal a kiss. Then she steals another. She’s on her way to a third when the door swings open and the wave of infuriated teen hits them so hard she thinks Yuuri actually flinches.

Yurio glowers, though the effect is lost somewhat by Makkachin poking his head round him and woofing happily at his owners.

“Your mutt is evil.” Is all Yurio says, before he glances to Vika’s side, at Yuuri, and his face does the usual, strange dance between gob-smacked and enraptured. It’s amusing, until it’s exhausting, and Vika slides him the money she promised (bribed) him with, and he gathers his things, dodging attempts at pleasantries before stalking out.

“I worry about him,” Vika jokes, half-heartedly, as if they’re still talking about the bratty fifteen year old he was when they met.

Yuuri has already clambered onto the sofa, coat thrown over the back and junk food torn into. She looks up at Vika, nose red with the change in temperature, and a carton of fries in one hand.

“He’s eighteen, Vika,” she says, sounding amused and so, so much better, “and he only lives ten minutes away.”

If she’s well enough to correct Vika then at least part of Date Night Plan B has apparently worked. Vika kicks off her heels and deposits her own coat beside Yuuri’s, goes to sit next to her before changing her mind.

Dates have movies, she thinks, and after handing her food to Yuuri - who’s halfway into one burger already - makes her way to the television. She turns it on, flicking through the channels until she finds the one she wants. Then, satisfied, she throws herself onto the cushions beside Yuuri, sprawling inelegantly as her dress flares across the seat.

“Your favourite,” she says with a nod at the soap opera now playing on the screen, before sneaking a few fries out of Yuuri’s hand.

Yuuri lets her. A sign she’s still a little rattled, a little preoccupied. Vika wraps her now greasy fingers around Yuuri’s knee and Yuuri shoots her a look.

“I only started watching it to practise Russian.”

“I know you did,” Vika humours her, voice teasing, “and I know you couldn’t possibly tell me when Irina found out she’s a secret duchess.”

“Countess.” Yuuri corrects her, just a little bit petulant and when Vika reaches for another fry, she tugs the packet out of her reach. “Yesterday. Her aunt died. The one she didn’t know about.”

Vika finally stops trying to steal Yuuri’s food and opens her own, curling into Yuuri and biting into her burger with a contented sigh.

“The only aunts she has are ones she doesn’t know about.”

“Hmm,” Yuuri says. Mouth full, eyes fixed on the screen.

Vika watches her instead of the show for a moment. Just takes her in. The way she looks almost perfectly composed, regardless of what must be going on inside her mind. How the blue of her dress makes her seem dynamic in her stillness. 

_ I love you, _ Vika thinks, for want of better words. Words big enough to contain the feeling that swells in her chest.

After a moment, Yuuri looks over at her. Chewing, unselfconsciously; just enjoying her terrible fast food with Vika cuddled close and melodrama on the television.

“I love you,” Vika tells her.

The last stripe of anxiety seems to bleed out of her, making her soften, slacken under Vika’s weight.

“I love you too.” She says simply. Because it is. Because she does, and Vika does too.

_ Date night successful, _ Vika guesses. She saw a pretty girl, bought her food, and got to take her home. No fancy restaurant could beat that.

She rests her head on Yuuri’s shoulder as she eats her (awful, just awful) burger, and in the sliver of space between them, their hands find each other.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Giving Up by Sick Of Sarah. It's probably time I admit to myself that this is basically an excuse for me to push my angry women rock playlist on unsuspecting fic readers. Sorry y'all.
> 
> Another heads up that the next chapter will be explicit!


	6. (All I Want's) To Love The One I'm With.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Six: Lingerie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaah this is a very belated last chapter because I ended up crashing after a week on a cumulative total of about 6 hours sleep. But, it’s also the longest, so that kind of makes up for it, right? 
> 
> I want to thank everyone for their lovely comments and for sticking with me throughout. I really enjoyed doing this week, and am thankful for the mods and everyone else who took part for reminding me how fun Viktuuri are to write. Also, for letting me attempt to flex my wlw smut muscles (jury’s still out on whether that was a success or not, but you can’t learn if you don’t try.)
> 
> Thank you all again, and I hope you enjoy this last chapter!

* * *

Despite her propensity for going without, Vika knows nice underwear. Knows designers and boutiques - most of whom have stumbled over themselves for an endorsement at some point - and she knows what looks good on a body. Or, to be specific, she knows what looks good on _her_ body. When it comes to Yuuri, she mostly just knows what she’d _like_ to see on her.

When Vika chooses to wear underwear (off-ice that is, sports gear is a whole other arena to contend with), it stands to reason that she wants only the best covering her nethers. Underwear must earn the privilege of clothing her skin, as she tells Yuuri at least once a month when her dearest fiancée inevitably brings the subject up. Their ‘the person who doesn’t wear underwear doesn’t get to judge mine’ argument isn’t really serious, but it is certainly recurring.

Vika tries not to overstep boundaries. Their entire relationship started in a dance of working out which foot was too far forward, then trying not to step too far back, after all. But she loves Yuuri, and Yuuri deserves Nice Things. The nicest. Vika wants to shower her in all the gifts she can cram into their apartment, until they’re both smothered by physical manifestations of the love and appreciation she tries to make evident in every movement, every breath.

To put it bluntly: she wishes to spoil the love of her life, and said love insists on making it difficult. Politely declines most things at least once, though the quietly pleased smile she gives when she does accept could nourish Vika’s heart for years.

Vika learns. She adapts. She discovers she can persuade Yuuri to accept through subterfuge. A careful “oh I bought one too many” can do the trick, though it usually comes with a slightly suspicious, secretly delighted look from Yuuri.

Vika’s favourite method is to buy a thing, wear it, then wait for Yuuri to start ‘borrowing’ it - because while Yuuri seems bound by anxiety and politeness to turn down unsolicited presents, she has exactly zero qualms about stealing Vika’s clothes. It’s fun. It’s fine. It’s thanks to this method that Yuuri ‘borrows’ the floaty, silk robe Vika bought because it’s this perfect shade of burgundy that Yuuri looks stunning in and Vika is _living._

This is a harder tactic to employ with underwear though, and Vika is forced to watch Yuuri wander through the apartment in her brand new robe, wearing nothing but her terrible, _functional_ underwear underneath it. Vika can’t help scrunching up her nose minutely when she sees Yuuri’s wearing a pair of knickers from a multipack - a pair she has particular hatred for, because they’re beige, for god’s sake, _beige._

Yuuri, standing at the kitchen counter, notices with an amused tilt to her lips

“They do their job, Vika.”

“Have we been brought so low as to resort to _practicality_?” Vika asks, fully aware she’s being a melodramatic little shit and not giving a single rat’s ass about it. Sprawls a little in her chair to further throw a strop.

Yuuri rolls her eyes and digs in to one of the flaky, jammy pastry things Vika buys her for breakfast during the off-season. Her tummy is out in all its soft, squeezable glory, and she’s been awake long enough to put on an equally beige bra. This, at least, Vika can approve of - it’s loose from age and gives her thrilling glimpses of Yuuri’s chest.

She’s allowed to look, she reminds herself, sounding hushed in awe even inside her own mind. She stares, for a moment, then looks back up to Yuuri’s face.

“If you let me buy you some new underwear, I promise not to complain for a month.”

Yuuri looks at her from the corners of her eyes, still chewing the pastry and pointedly saying nothing.

“Two months.” Vika offers.

Yuuri’s chewing slows, and she narrows her eyes. A flake of pastry drifts down to her collarbone.

Vika, distracted, says, “I won’t rip anymore of your underwear off you.”

This makes Yuuri stop, swallow, then turn to face her properly. She considers Vika. Assessing.

Vika does her best to look honest, which is tricky when she’s already trying to imagine getting Yuuri into something translucent and lacey and having the restraint not to tear it even a tiny bit.

Whatever she sees in her face, Yuuri must deem it acceptable, because she slides into Vika’s lap, wrapping her in a hug. Conveniently placing Vika at boob-level.

Vika knows this tactic. Has used this tactic on Yuuri herself. She cuddles Yuuri close and is about three seconds away from ascending to the heavens when Yuuri tucks a finger under her chin and raises it, fixing her with a stern look.

Vika shifts underneath her.

“Three months of no complaining and no ripping. Also, you replace all the things you’ve already ripped.”

She’s using The Tone. The one that makes Vika fidget, squirm even more in her role as Katsuki Yuuri’s cushion. Vika’s thoughts race, her heart not far behind, and she finds herself nodding excitedly.

“I promise to not tear a single shred of clothing from you,” she lies, taking the opportunity to curve her fingers round the shape of Yuuri’s ass, “and I will not call your underwear hideous slights against the obscene splendour that is your body.”

Yuuri gives her a look, and Vika laughs, can’t hold herself together under the excitement of Yuuri suggesting she might let Vika buy her things. She turns the squeeze into a tug and Yuuri goes, willingly, to sit more firmly in Vika’s lap.

They sit together, pressed skin to skin - ugly underwear to no underwear - and Vika starts rocking a little. The pressure just right to build a tiny frisson of friction between them. She slides her thumbs under the waist of Yuuri’s panties and Yuuri - bold, _beautiful_ Yuuri, grinds down insistently.

Her stomach and chest are warm and wonderful against Vika’s skin; her expression is still a little dubious, though she shifts to let her hands rest against Vika’s ribs. Fingers framing Vika’s breasts and just sitting there, teasing by simply being. Feeling the way her chest shifts with her breathing.

Vika, weak, forgets _how_ to.

“I get to veto anything too expensive.” Yuuri finally says, as she spreads her fingers out, tracing almost absently over her nipples.

That’s fair. That’s totally reasonable. Vika is going to go to any length to prevent it from happening, but it’s completely acceptable as a concession.

“_Yes_.” She gasps, partly because of the joy of winning, partly because Yuuri pinches her just right. She steadies Yuuri with her left hand, shifts and fidgets until she’s got her right hand between her legs, circling and pressing down intermittently until Yuuri’s breathing as heavily as she is. “Yes, of course, my Yuuri, _anything_.”

Yuuri’s gaze darkens at Vika’s easy obedience, and she drops one hand down to mirror the movement between her thighs.

There’s not much talking after that, only sound and touch. The chair creaking ominously beneath them in harmony with feverish breath and quiet, morning-soft cries; molten, slow embers of pleasure clenching at Vika's abdomen, drawn tight then loose with the rhythmic motion of Yuuri's fingertips; Yuuri keening quietly and her hips stuttering in tandem with Vika's. Then, the heart-wrenching sight of Yuuri when she moans, arching her back as she comes to a shivery climax on Vika’s determined fingers, the robe slipping down her shoulders in the process.

Vika kisses her neck, tries despite the awkward position to rock against her hand, to take a little control of the sensation. The kitchen chair is immovable though, and Yuuri’s fingers are as fluid as the rest of her, tipping Vika over into an orgasm that feels like she’s crumpling inside herself. Curling inwards even as she tenses, strains up.

They slump, eventually, into one another. Splayed and shaking on the kitchen chair, Yuuri’s face warm against Vika’s neck when she finally musters the strength to mutter, “What have I agreed to?”

Vika smiles into her hair. Sensibly, she doesn’t answer.

* * *

After they shower and dress (both of which come sometime after they regain the ability to walk on wobbly legs) Vika makes a few calls and texts while Yuuri looks alternately nervous, fondly amused, and like she might already be regretting this. 

She pets Makka on the sofa, looking soft and lovely in old jeans and one of Vika’s old blouses; it’s long enough to accommodate a larger bust and when in competition form it looks quite neat on Yuuri. Right now it stretches a little tight, and everytime she moves in it Vika wants to thank whatever god she must have pleased to earn one inch of Yuuri’s affections.

Vika pauses mid-sentence, and has to take a deep, sharp breath. 

Yuuri looks at her, questioning, and Vika smiles back. Answers the slightly confused query on the phone in the wrong language twice before she can reply properly. 

It takes maybe half an hour, but she books them some private time at a few boutiques, and manages to get a rough idea of what she wants to suggest to Yuuri. 

“It’s a surprise,” she insists, when Yuuri tries to get an idea of what’s awaiting her, nervously fidgeting in the taxi as it takes them to their first destination.

Yuuri gives her a sideways glance that tells her exactly what she thinks of surprises, and Vika responds by snuggling up to her side. She rests her head against Yuuri’s shoulder, crooning her name and sneaking one hand up her thigh as she does so.

When Yuuri turns her head to look down at her, she steals a swift kiss and wins a surprised smile.

“Nothing too outrageous,” Yuuri whispers, and Vika notices she doesn’t remove her hand, “I’m not you.”

Vika gasps, sits upright in mock affront.

“Outrageous? Me?”

Yuuri ducks her head demurely, lips quirking into a smile. A small, delicate thing that does things to Vika’s heart that ought to be illegal.

“I _ meant _ I can’t pull off…” She shoots a nervous glance towards the driver-seat, and settles on the side of discretion. “I can’t pull off the sort of look you can.”

_ Well of course, _ Vika thinks. _ If I wanted someone who looked like me I’d date my own reflection. _

She knows though, with a firework pop of fury on Yuuri’s behalf, where this is coming from. What she actually means. So she purses her lips and nods, releasing Yuuri’s thigh to clasp her hand and trace the ring on her finger.

“I know exactly what look you can pull off,” Vika tells her, no-nonsense, “and it’s a good thing Mrs. Kuznetsova loves Makkachin because this is a mission of extreme importance and sadly, most of these places don't allow dogs.”

(Mrs. Kuznetsova does, in fact love Makkachin, and when Vika’d asked her to please dog-sit for them she’d looked legitimately torn between her adoration of the poodle, and her utter disdain for Vika.)

“It’s a good thing she likes _ me _,” Yuuri points out with a confidence that surges up and out of her anxiety, “what on earth did you do to make her hate you?”

Vika sniffs.

“Not a clue.” (She does, in fact, have several clues, and most of them involve vodka.)

Yuuri gives her a sideways glance. After a moment, she laughs, squeeze’s Vika’s fingers, and turns to look out the window.

“Okay,” she says, “let’s buy me some...”

She looks at the driver again, then back outside.

Vika cackles and hugs her close for the rest of the drive.

* * *

“Hm.” Is all Yuuri says.

Vika looks at the impressively architectured mass of frills in her hand, and back again.

“No?” She asks, and Yuuri makes the face that she makes when she’s trying to find the least impolite way to say ‘I hate it’.

Vika, to be honest, expected this, and hands it back to the assistant (a girl with violet hair and a blush that started the minute she clapped eyes on Yuuri) to be put away. 

“Okay, no frills.”

“Frills aren’t a complete no, just...not so many? And maybe something that actually-” Yuuri cuts herself off, turns a glorious pink.

Vika grins.

“That actually covers the nipples?”

Yuuri rolls her eyes, then nods.

“I can work with that.” Vika says simply, holding out her hand for the next piece.

This one catches Yuuri’s attention for slightly better reasons: it’s blue and, compared to the first, relatively tame. [A simple little body piece, mostly translucent and covered in stars](https://www.agentprovocateur.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/500x/040ec09b1e35df139433887a97daa66f/1/9/190325_ap_luxx_6459.jpg). It’s cute rather than sexy, but Vika’d seen it on a late night ‘research’ mission a while back and hadn’t been able to imagine it anywhere else but on Yuuri ever since.

Yuuri, to Vika’s satisfaction, seems to like it. At the very least, she doesn’t recoil in horror, instead reaching out and touching the material. It must feel fine, because she takes it from Vika then holds it against herself.

“I like the colour,” she finally says. Carefully avoids saying that it’s nearly the same shade as her glasses. She looks at the assistant who snaps - almost audibly - to attention. “Can I-”

“Yes. You have to - um,” the assistant seems to lose herself at the notion, and Vika steps in for her.

“You have to keep your own underwear on.”

Yuuri raises her eyebrows in a move that feels faintly familiar to Vika, then says drily, “Thank you. I would never have guessed.”

Vika goes to follow her towards the dressing room, but is pinned in place by the firm look Yuuri gives her.

“The Selfridge's incident.” She whispers to herself, and feels only slightly mollified when she relives the memory of said incident.

_ Fair enough, _ she thinks, even as she pouts about being left outside.

A few awkward minutes later, Yuuri returns, looking flustered but firm, and she nods when she hands it back to Vika.

Vika has taken the time to collect a couple of matching bra and panty sets, and offers them to Yuuri in exchange. These are deemed acceptable too, thanks to the assistant carefully removing any and all price-tags at Vika’s request; Yuuri looks suspicious, but also a little thrilled. Excited at the shared venture of finding underwear they can both enjoy.

The next shop is equally straightforward, though they end up buying nothing. Everything a little too fussy, too frilly for Yuuri, despite Vika pouting over a particularly wispy number.

(“It’s beautiful, just like you!” She’d said, walking right into Yuuri’s reply of, “It’s extra, just like you.”)

Store three takes a little bit more persuasion for Yuuri to even enter. She stops outside, staring with wide-eyes.

“They have normal stuff too.” Vika insists, tugging Yuuri’s hand.

Yuuri eventually budges, and walks as if in a dream behind Vika.

Vika leaves her for a moment, having a package of her own to collect. When she comes back, Yuuri is, thankfully, staring at a display with a thoughtful look on her face. Her eyes are fixed on a garter belt set and Vika has to pause to thank every god she can think of at the idea of Katsuki Yuuri wearing stockings.

When she can move again, she approaches. Watches Yuuri reach her hand out to trail her fingers over the dark, strappy fabric. Her touch is gentle but not hesitant. She’s already made a decision, and Vika practically jumps on her with an embrace and a cheeky kiss against her jaw.

“See,” she jokes, “you _do _have good taste.”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri sighs, “I like _ you _.”

“Good, because I’m not going anywhere.” Vika says, and releases her to look at the same item.

They’re simple, which is probably what caught Yuuri’s eye in the sea of frills and lace and, in eye-catching corner displays, latex. [Black straps and a floral centre-piece, paired with asymmetrical panties](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1169/7228/products/40269__01_1024x1024.jpg?v=1518190207). They’re understated and elegant, just the right fit for Yuuri’s brand of slow-burning sensuality.

Yuuri’s face says ‘I want them’, in the firm set of her mouth, the determined glint in her brown eyes.

Vika takes them out of her hands, and steers her towards a dressing room.

“What are you waiting for, Yuuri?” She hands her the other things she’s picked up with a gleeful grin. “We’ve got three more places to go after this one, time is of the essence!”

There’s a muffled “What? How many?” from behind the curtain.

Vika chooses to ignore it.

* * *

The apartment is a welcome reprieve when they return to it. Night has already begun to creep in, in long, purpling stripes of light through the window. Vika volunteers to put their stuff away, while Yuuri goes to retrieve Makkachin from next door.

While she’s gone, Vika strips, adorns the parcel she collected for herself and after a quick, efficient check of herself in the mirror, she puts what she begrudgingly counts as pyjamas during the colder months (in this case, one of Yuuri’s old t-shirts, and a long dressing gown) on over it. A little secret between her, the grey shirt fabric, and the walls of their bedroom.

She finishes up tidying away their purchases and walks into the living room just as Yuuri returns. Dog weaving round her legs, and what appears to be an entire cake in one hand. She shrugs at Vika’s questioning stare.

“It’s coffee cake. She made too much for her and her husband.”

The cake is large, and noticeably intact. Mutual dislike aside, Vika has to commend Mrs. Kuznetsova on having the exceptional taste to _ adore _Yuuri. Still, she nods and crouches as Makkachin makes a beeline for her, wrapping her arms around the poodle and showering him in pets and ‘who’s a good boy?’s.

Once Makkachin is given sufficient adulation and fed, he settles on his bed by the radiator under the window and snores while Vika and Yuuri have the cake with some tea. They sit opposite one another on the sofa, Vika’s bare feet on Yuuri’s thighs, and Yuuri’s socked ones tucked neatly either side of Vika’s knees. It’s warm and quiet, and Vika is vibrating with the promise of revealing what she’s wearing underneath her clothes.

Has, quite frankly, been on edge all day, with the joy of buying Yuuri things and being allowed to do so. Permitted to drown her in gifts, to spoil her with at least a fraction of what she actually deserves. She eats the cake in uncharacteristic silence, smiling at Yuuri when she looks up, and feeling nearly sick with how happy she is. How it bleeds into every limb, every digit. How only a few years ago this sort of feeling was unimaginable to her.

Yuuri would have been unimaginable to her as well. Someone who loved her as much as she loved them, someone who constantly surprised her while being so often on the same wavelength.

She pokes Yuuri with her toes. 

Yuuri looks up and smiles, looks preoccupied and sleepy and Vika wants to burn the image into her retinas, her heart.

“I think I’ll have a shower before bed.” Yuuri says, apropos of nothing.

“Okay.” 

Vika schemes. She can sprawl across the bed-sheets in her own very nice, new underwear and wait for Yuuri to come out. It’s a shame she didn’t think to buy any petals to throw over it, but there’ll be other opportunities for romantic gestures in the future, she’s sure.

Yuuri takes their cleared plates to the kitchen before heading to have a bath, and Vika pretends to be fiddling with her phone until she hears the click of the door; she sneaks into the bedroom, whips off the robe and shirt and quickly glances over herself in the mirror again.

Her hair is shiny and tucked back, just the right level of dishevelled to look rakish when she smiles. She pats down her bra and panties to make sure they’re sitting right; they’re surprisingly minimalist for her, [see-through golden petals on low-cut material](https://www.coco-de-mer.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/Make-Coco-de-Mer-AW19-Danae-1-1.jpg). If she moves just the right amount they cover precisely nothing, and she throws herself across the bed with abandon. Primps and pulls pillows so she can pose, up on one elbow, her other arm strewn artfully across the line of her body. Crosses her legs at the ankle and, watching the door, waits in anticipatory silence. Which is, in her opinion, half the fun.

She waits, and it’s just as the realisation that she can’t hear any running water dawns on her that the bathroom door opens.

Yuuri, in the burgundy robe again, pauses mid-step when she sees Vika.

She opens her mouth to speak then stops, eyes moving down, across the fine material, across the length of Vika’s body.

If Vika can read Yuuri at all, she likes what she sees.

“I wanted to surprise you.” 

It takes her a second to realise it was Yuuri who said it, not herself, and she cocks her head in confusion.

Yuuri reaches down to undo the robe belt and as it slips away Vika’s fairly certain she _ dies _.

[She’s wearing black](https://www.coco-de-mer.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/06/45550-3-coco-de-mer.jpg). A bra that might as well not bother trying, intricate lace in florets over her nipples. Tiny panties, and Vika needs Yuuri to turn around, to give her the full view because that can’t be all that constitutes the bottom half. And then - and _ then -_ sheer but somehow stark against her legs. Stockings. Held up by a simple belt.

Vika isn’t sure what to look at first, overcome by the sheer happening. The fact that Yuuri is wearing this, right now, in their bedroom.

Yuuri steps slowly, cautiously closer, dropping the robe on the floor as she goes. 

“Can I-” She starts, then stops, cut off by Vika abandoning her pose to kneel on the bed and reach out. 

She grabs Yuuri’s hands and tugs her forward - misjudges in her haste, and pulls her into a messy spill onto the quilt. Any grace they might have on the ice lost in the treacherous land of the bedsheets, where the costumes are less glittery, more honest. Vika just holds her there for a second, content to feel Yuuri’s warm weight and the knowledge that they’re both equally as stupid for each other, apparently.

With some wriggling, they manage to pull up, to sit on the bed together. Vika sits back on one arm, legs curled elegantly before her, while Yuuri kneels, making the stockings sink a little into the squish of her thigh.

Vika’s mouth goes dry, and her fingers twitch to touch.

Yuuri shifts a little, as if getting into character, and then she looks at Vika very seriously. Too seriously. Vika swallows and presses her thighs together, imagines the press of a hand, of a mouth, and arousal flares for a moment, before settling into a steady smoulder.

“I thought,” Yuuri says in a low, sultry tone, “that maybe you would like these.”

She slides her hands down her own thighs, scratching so, so softly at the material of the stockings, and leaving momentary indents in her own skin.

Vika doesn’t know what to say other than, “I do.”

Yuuri’s lips curve up. Not quite a smile, but too sweet to be a smirk. She rises up on her haunches, and brings her hands up her own body. A playful, performative exploration. Vika watches, transfixed, as she draws invisible lines across her own skin. A map, a ley-line of desire for Vika to chase. To follow, as if bewitched.

Which she is. Happily. She moves onto her own knees, intending to catch Yuuri’s hands before they reach her chest and disturb the leaf-light lace that _ whisper _of what lies beneath. She pauses though, instead skimming her hands over the shape of Yuuri’s body, a centimetre or so away from her skin. Close enough to feel her warmth, the sheer force of want, without brushing a single finger against her. Her hands ghost over waist, stomach, the bottom of Yuuri’s ribcage.

She sighs and raises them over Yuuri’s breasts, before letting them come to a final stop over the middle of her chest. Lets them touch at last, where she can feel the steady, beating rhythm of her heart.

Yuuri leans close enough to brush sweetness across Vika’s lips, and slowly, slowly creeps her own hands up Vika’s sides. Tickling electricity in their wake, making Vika sway closer, pull out of the kiss with a soft, sweet huff of a laugh.

“Yuuri,” she says as Yuuri chases her lips again, “all this time, were you just hiding your nice underwear?”

Yuuri gives a slash of a smile, and darts up to catch her in a biting kiss. Fingers teasing the edge of Vika’s excuse of a bra, running along the material as if charting it.

Vika gets her own hands on the lace Yuuri's draped in. Sweeps across it to appreciate how fine it is - how fine the breasts beneath it are - then begins her ghost trail in reverse. Touches Yuuri all the way down her body, taking time to squeeze and stroke at her waist and belly, while chasing the wildfire of Yuuri’s kiss.

It burns through her. White hot in her blood and bones and it draws her to Yuuri as much as it threatens, warns her to keep her distance. Vika, naturally, pulls closer. Touches all of Yuuri that she can reach, fingers determined and cunning as they slip round to feel the line of Yuuri’s panties.

She pulls back and begs, with a wretched breath, “Let me see?”

Yuuri bites her lips. After a second she turns, almost sitting in her lap, back to Vika’s chest, and _ oh _.

[There’s lace here too](https://www.coco-de-mer.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/06/45550-coco-de-mer.jpg), so delicate that she thinks it could tear with one wrong movement and it’s the most tense, tempting moment she’s ever felt; the need to grasp and yank and _ expose _, too impatient to remove it with care. But this is a gift, and she can’t ruin a gift. So she settles for smoothing the lace down, tracing the curve of Yuuri’s ass with admiring fingers, tugging gently at the edges of fabric.

Yuuri looks back at her over her shoulder when she follows the material down, then between. Skirts fingers over the fabric, over where Yuuri’s warmest, where she’s already a little wet.

Vika kisses her shoulder, rubs the slowly-forming wet spot and asks, just loud enough to be heard over the way Yuuri’s breath has quickened, “Do you want-”

“Yes,” Yuuri replies, rocking into Vika’s hands, trying to get her to touch her properly, “yes, I do, please.”

Vika kisses her shoulder and reluctantly releases her to move and root around under the bed for the box of toys. While not exactly rare, it’s hardly an everyday occurrence, and it takes her longer than she likes to find what she wants. Harness and all. She pauses and looks back at Yuuri, who’s kneeling on the bed and clutching the sheets like she might float away if she doesn’t.

“Which one-”

“Any.” Yuuri interrupts. She looks over at Vika with coal-dark eyes and worries her lip before adding, “Any’s fine.”

Okay then. The choice is in Vika’s hands. Responsibility, trust that she can fulfil Yuuri's needs without being told how. It sends a thrill up her spine. Makes excitement flourish between her ribs and spread, in a slippery spiral, down to her belly-button, where arousal has been pooling, bubbling like a tar-pit.

She grabs the one Yuuri refuses to admit is her favourite - a fact communicated instead by the way she eyes it, wary and excited all at once, and spreads her thighs a little wider. Vika has no intention of using it just yet, though it’s a nice little denouement to build up to. Her hands shake a little as she straps up, then on, and lets out a breathy laugh. The usual moment of slight awkwardness passing with a sly look in Yuuri’s direction.

Yuuri smiles sweetly back, looking far too well composed for Vika’s liking. Even if she’s here for Yuuri’s pleasure, for giving her what she wants, there’s certain things Vika wants too - and one of those things is Yuuri breathless with anticipation.

She crawls close, wraps her arms around Yuuri's middle and tugs her gently up into an embrace. Nuzzles into her neck, breathes her in and kisses a moan out of her mouth when she turns her head to look back. 

Vika starts with this kiss, with the gentle rocking of their bodies in what could be an otherwise chaste hug (minus the equipment being carefully pressed between Yuuri's thighs) and then she starts exploring again. Traces a triangle with her palms across Yuuri’s middle, coming to a point in the middle of her chest.

She lays them flat there for a moment, then pulls them apart to cover the lace of the bra. Just sitting there over the swell of Yuuri’s breasts, rising and falling with her breaths.

Yuuri reaches up to lay her own hands over Vika’s, and Vika lets her direct her touch, at least for a little while. Presses when Yuuri presses, a slow massaging motion. After she’s set the pace she wants, Yuuri drops her hands from Vika’s, travelling down her own body again. 

Vika can tell from the way she twists ever so slightly, from the sigh she lets out, that her fingers have slid beneath the panties. And as Yuuri touches herself, Vika teases. She gropes, squeezes Yuuri’s breasts - follows her breathing and happy little sighs until they’re in a rhythm. 

Then, she rolls her hips so that the toy between Yuuri’s thighs rubs against her. Against where she wants Vika to split her open - where Vika wants to pour love into her, to pull every chord of Yuuri’s body into rapture. Wants to make her shake and sigh.

Vika slides one hand down to toy with the edge of Yuuri’s stockings. Strokes the soft material, explores the dent it makes in her skin, the way it clings like a second-skin. She rubs, and pinches, and resists the urge to rip because Yuuri asked her not to and right now - right now she wants what Yuuri wants, even as need spreads between her own legs.

“Vika-” Yuuri gasps, one hand flying back to grip Vika’s hip when she tugs at her nipple, the lace barely hiding the sensation of it under her fingers. “I want-”

“I know,” she tells her, and kisses the spot behind her ear that makes her flush, “I know, love.”

Vika pulls back again, but brings her hands to Yuuri’s hips. Squeezes playfully, then tender, before gently urging her to roll over. 

Yuuri goes after a moment’s hesitation, landing on her back with a soft ‘hmph’ and she automatically wriggles down the sheets so she’s in Vika’s lap. Legs either side of Vika’s hips, the rasp and whisper of the stockings burning against Vika’s skin. It’s hypnotic, the feel of the silken material and the view of Yuuri, splaying herself, a vision of every possible word Vika could describe her sexuality as.

“You look beautiful,” Vika says, running her hands down the inside of Yuuri’s thighs, “gorgeous, lovely.” She takes a second to dip her fingers beneath the stocking hem, then lets them snap back against Yuuri’s thigh. Takes her hands on a tour of the panties which stand out like an ink-spot on Yuuri’s flesh. 

“I was going for sexy.” Yuuri teases breathlessly, and Vika carefully, so carefully, begins to roll the panties down.

“That too.” She smiles. Slips her fingers between the lace and Yuuri’s sex, and strokes her softly. Testing her resolve. Is more than a little smug to find Yuuri is practically dripping, the panty material sticky against the back of her hand. “Eros incarnate.”

Yuuri smiles back, breath hitching when Vika’s fingertips graze her clit once, twice. Her legs twitch, strain around Vika’s waist, and she moans low in her throat when Vika shifts, moves to hold her open and slide the toy in.

It’s always a joy to behold, Yuuri’s face when Vika is inside her in some form. Slack and surprised, awe-struck, almost. Vika pushes until she’s flush with Yuuri’s hips, urges her legs up to wrap round her, wants to be held as much as she wants to hold. She’s aching too, can feel the pressure and prickle almost unbearable now. But she’s good at holding on, at waiting until Yuuri’s ready, or til Yuuri says; right now, unable, unwilling to ruin the lace Yuuri has painted herself an artwork with, the next best thing is ruining  _ her _ , in the nicest possible way.

She rocks gently, lets Yuuri’s breathy little sounds guide her. Holds herself up over Yuuri so she can watch her expression change, can feel her arms burning with effort - and god is the effort worth it. Each roll, each nudge darkening Yuuri’s eyes, dragging the sweetest moans up and out of her mouth. What can Vika do but kiss her swallowing those noises with a vicious curl of her tongue, nipping Yuuri’s lips and shifting her weight so she can swipe one hand up, grope Yuuri’s breast underneath her, pinching and rolling her nipple under the lace.

Yuuri sobs into the kiss, and Vika smiles against her; she stops the push-pull rocking and shoves, starts to fuck her properly, the way she asks for when she’s sweet, the way she demands when she’s not. They have to part then, for air, for space, and Yuuri shuts her eyes, head rolling back against the sheets as she clutches, grabs at Vika’s shoulders.

She’s divine, the line of her neck pure temptation, and Vika tears her gaze away to look down. To watch how Yuuri’s thighs lock, her stomach tenses. The way her chest rolls with the stress and strain of their lovemaking; she’s a masterpiece in motion, and Vika thinks she could come just from watching Yuuri get off. 

“Would you like it,” she asks, when Yuuri’s moan pitch up, thread from short, separate things into longer, fractious pieces, “dressed up like this, wrapped up so prettily, with a toy inside you?”

Yuuri’s answer is to dig her nails in, try and pull Vika deeper. Vika chases the darting rabbit of a thought, lets her words paint Yuuri’s face in a pink blush as she continues.

“Just the toy, nothing else, and me unable to do anything but  _ watch  _ you come?”

“God,” Yuuri moans, “ _ Yes _ , Vika-”

She opens her eyes and it’s like falling in love all over again; staring into her pitch-dark gaze, as she gasps and keens underneath Vika. 

Vika steals another kiss, slides her hand down Yuuri’s side to wrap round her hip again, to clutch her close and push deep, hard. Chasing the high peaks of her cries on each thrust, love and pleasure more potent than any clothing she could dress in. No frills on their affection, no ribbons tying them together.

“I’ve got you,” Vika whispers and Yuuri comes, clutching Vika tight and letting out a broken sound that could be her name.

She’s staring up at her throughout, and Vika’s throbbing, thighs shaking from exertion and excitement; she keeps rocking Yuuri through it, only stopping when Yuuri inhales a shaky breath and pushes her gently back - parting her legs this time to let her pull out, then sitting up and untying, pulling Vika’s underwear down with much steadier hands than Vika could manage if she were in the same position.

The faint tremble of Yuuri’s fingers as she slips them inside of her makes it all the more real, more like thunder than a lightning strike; she surges to her knees as she finds the spot that makes Vika’s knees weak. Makes her clasp Yuuri’s forearm and sag down, ride her hand to avoid collapsing outright.

“Oh,” is all Vika can manage when Yuuri yanks at the thin material of her own bra, presses her mouth to her nipple, “ _ oh _ .”

She’s suspended, between wet, biting heat, and the ocean wave motion of Yuuri’s fingers. Pleasure on a precipice, Yuuri eroding the cliff-edge of it with every movement, every sweep and kiss and plunge. 

She looks down, from where Yuuri’s fingers disappear between her thighs, up her soft, coiled body and the black lace. To her dark head against her breasts, the glittery way she looks at Vika as she takes her other nipple between her teeth.

Vika is  _ sunk;  _ sinks, on a cry of “Yuuri!”, and shakes apart, faintly aware of the cracking sound of fabric tearing and wetness leaking down her thigh.

She might as well have blacked out, for all she knows what she’s doing in the freefall of coming. Mind somewhere else, as her body continues to broadcast the sure, sharp shock of pleasure. They fade slowly, and she comes back into herself. Yuuri’s fingers still moving, gently, inside her. Chest cool where the slick patterns Yuuri painted with her tongue are drying in the air.

When Vika opens her eyes, Yuuri is smiling at her, radiating affection and joy, and everything. She is just...everything.

“That-” Vika’s voice cracks when Yuuri’s fingers slip out of her, curl round her hip damply, “that was…”

“A nice surprise?” Yuuri sounds too soft for Vika to be offended by the smugness underneath. She nods and pulls Yuuri into a hug - more of a lean, and they tumble, once again, to the mattress. Cushioned by one another, arms like lifelines.

They lie together, smiling and stroking, and Vika has to kiss her. Again and again. Sweetly, a declaration each time of love and completion. She’s not sure how long they stay like that, wrapped so tight they might as well be one, but the spell is broken by the sound of scratching at the door, then, a pitiful whine.

Yuuri is the first to let go, and Vika pouts, releasing her reluctantly and moving the abandoned harness and toy onto the bedside table while Makkachin is allowed into the bedroom again.

He leaps onto the end of the bed and sets about making himself at home, apparently oblivious to what his owners have just been doing. 

“I guess that means it’s bedtime,” Yuuri muses, looking rumpled and lovely, with her underwear crooked, and her stockings still biting into her thighs.

Vika smiles and lies back against the pillows, glances down at the mess of her own underwear as Yuuri climbs back onto the bed and- 

“Excuse me,” Vika says flatly, “what is this?”

One cup of her bra has been ripped. Golden fabric hanging limply down. She looks up at Yuuri, flabbergasted, and receives an bashfullook in response.

“I’m not the one who promised not to rip anything.” Yuuri finally says, archly. 

Vika stares at her. 

“And it’s not like I did it intentionally.”

“Yuuri,” Vika says, “this bra was very expensive.”

Yuuri looks a little sheepish, and Vika throws herself onto her, cuddling shamelessly as she laughs, “That’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever done to my clothing.”

“It was an accident,” Yuuri insists, letting Vika snuggle close in spite of what she says, “why do you buy such expensive underwear anyway?”

Vika pulls back to give Yuuri a look, then leers, pointedly, at Yuuri’s own lingerie.

Yuuri’s arms tighten reflexively around her.

“Okay,” she whispers, “okay, I get it.”

“I’m not sure you do.” Vika says very seriously. Adds, in a low whisper, “But that’s okay. I’m going to teach you how to appreciate nice things.”

Yuuri hums in reply, and Vika accepts it.  Holds it close to her heart, along with everything else she knows Yuuri feels but can’t say.

She's going to spoil Yuuri if it takes her a lifetime to do it.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from 'Melody Dean' by Amanda Palmer.
> 
> This chapter was meant to be a lot shorter, and more humorous than horny, but turns out my fem-viktuuri are Horny On Main and this became...well. This. This is also unbetaed, because I am a disaster. Any glaring typos please let me know!
> 
> I'm taking a wee break from yoi fic for a bit but I have very much not left the fandom, and will hopefully be back with some more viktuuri shenanigans before the end of the year :D


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